The Trinity
by Claudi007
Summary: Legolas' experiences in Rivendell during the 8 days prior to the Fellowship's departure. Slash.
1. Default Chapter

  
The gallery corridor, echoing the scarcely noticeable sounds of its own vast and lonely emptiness, was lit by a few dim wall-mounted lamps and one strikingly white sunbeam which had snaked its way through an intricate maze of mirrors. These had been built into the roof five hundred years earlier but still served their purpose well to flaunt luminance over the far wall. Upon this, the west wall, had been painted three connected scenes depicting an ambush, a battle, and a parting. The sunbeam coaxed bright twinkles from silver flashes of swords and dark sways of hair, and warmed cold stone faces to life with a crystal glow. The paintings, now five hundred years old themselves, just as the mirrors, were generally known as the Trinity of Celebrían.   
  
Elrond stood several steps back and to the side, careful not to cross in front of the sunbeam and cause his shadow to mar the Trinity. He spoke to himself, his faint voice scarcely above a whisper. It was the only living sound in the gallery. "I should have been there for you."   
  
Celebrían's alarmed face screamed back at him from the first scene. Her eyes glittered, so pleading and lifelike, as orcs tore at her body and pulled her from her horse. Her likeness both begged Elrond for help and accused him of leaving her prone to attack, until he could no longer stand her presence; he shut his eyes to her torment and turned away. Though the image was burned too firmly in his memory, so that even without the aid of his eyes he could still see her. "I should have been there..."   
  
It was their sons, Elladan and Elrohir, who found Celebrían, captive to the orcs, tortured and near death. In the second painting she lay collapsed in the arms of Elrohir while Elladan bravely fought off the orcs. Elrond knew without looking; he had memorised every detail of the Trinity over the years. So small and faint she looked in that painting, just as she had looked when their sons carried her back to Imladris.   
  
"I should have fought with them, stood beside them as I stood beside Gil-galad-" he paused for a moment at the mention of this name "-in the alliance against Sauron. If we had reached you sooner... Five hundred and nine years ago. When they brought you back to Imladris I worked for eight days to heal your body. The sight of you lying there, cold and failing, gave me such strength as I didn't know I possessed, and in eight days I had erased all of your pain, healed the wounds, and banished the scars." He opened his eyes, now a weary and dull grey from too many hard recollections, and stared at the third painting. "At least I thought I had, perhaps because I too much wanted you to be healed. Though I suppose mental torments are much harder to undo. I couldn't physically see such things to heal, especially when you tried so hard to hide your torment from me, our children, and everyone else. Why did you choose to go on like that, silent and distant? We could have helped you; I could have. But you chose instead to leave."   
  
The third painting of the Trinity showed Celebrían as she was before she left. She appeared detached, expressionless, indifferent to the others in the scene. Painted likenesses of the citizenry of Imladris, joined by Celeborn and Galadriel journeyed from Lothlórien to bid farewell to their daughter, stood solemnly by as Celebrían and her escort prepared to ride away to the Grey Havens to set sail west for Aman.   
  
"I suppose you are happier there," Elrond continued, "as many of us would be now that such troubling times have come once again to Middle-earth. I don't believe it will be long before I join you."   
  
He stood there, silent, for a moment longer, looking at the Trinity which appeared so cruelly lifelike in the bright sunlight beam. Then he turned and walked quickly from the gallery, footsteps clashing in echoes against the high vaulted walls. He walked without having to think where he was going; he had taken this route innumerable times, long ago, shortly after the Trinity had first been painted. At that time he had gone to see the image of Celebrían every morning, though over the years that had stretched into every week, and over the centuries into every year or even more infrequently.   
  
This had been the first day in nearly a decade that Elrond had been to the gallery. But still he followed the familiar route, the only one that seemed right, which led from the gallery corridor, through the house, to a balcony that overlooked the road leading west out of the valley, the same road Celebrían took when she left for the Grey Havens. He remembered clearly standing on that balcony over five hundred years ago, watching her form grow smaller and smaller with distance until she disappeared from sight entirely, obscured by trees. Now he could only look to the west and remember her, and wonder if she remembered him as she looked to the east.   
  
"Are you expecting more guests?"   
  
"No," replied Elrond. "Are you?"   
  
"No." Legolas stepped out onto the balcony and closed the doors quickly behind him. "Your house is overrun by Dwarves. This is the only place I can escape them; they tend to avoid the open outdoors."   
  
"What about the gardens?"   
  
"Full of Noldor."   
  
He should have reprimanded Legolas for his prejudices, but instead Elrond smiled. Though this brief innocent joy faded into heavy silence once Elrond turned back to look at the west.   
  
"You're thinking of Celebrían," Legolas said.   
  
Elrond flashed a quick glance back over toward him, but didn't reply.   
  
"I saw you leave the gallery a few minutes ago," Legolas explained, "and by your demeanor I guessed what you had been doing in there. I saw the Trinity earlier this morning, with Elrohir, and he related to me the entire story. I'm sorry for your loss."   
  
"I suppose it was to be expected. Her spirit was injured beyond the healing power of this land, and she wanted to take her place in the bliss of Aman."   
  
"Why did you not go with her?"   
  
Elrond frowned. "I swore an oath. To Gil-galad-" he paused again at the name of the Noldorin King "-before the war on Sauron, when Imladris was founded. At that time he trusted Vilya, the Ring of Air, into my care, and I promised to keep it safe until the time that the One Ring of Sauron is destroyed. And as that time has not yet come to pass, I am bound here still by my oath."   
  
* * * * *   
  
"It should stay here," Gil-galad said. He held Vilya on his palm, watching slivers of candlelight catch the ring's bright sapphire. "This place is one of the few havens left untainted by the darkness of Mordor, and I fear the ring would come under the influence of evil if we were to chance keeping it anywhere else."   
  
Elrond, as he lay beside Gil-galad, asked, "You can't keep it with you?"   
  
"No." He placed the ring in its carven box on the table beside the bed, then turned over to face Elrond and graze the tips of his fingers over Elrond's hairline. "If I were to fall in battle and Vilya become lost to the Enemy, the damage to our cause and our race would be fatal. The ring has great power over all Elvenkind; that power wielded by the hand of Sauron would be impossible to overcome."   
  
Leaning closer, he wrapped his arm about Elrond's bare shoulders. He could see the radiant devotion in Elrond's eyes, but also confusion and worry. He wondered if his own eyes betrayed similar thoughts. Weariness, grief, hope, affection, love- these dominated his mind, though he tried to silence them as he spoke of more urgent matters. "I must go myself to wage war on He who would destroy us; therefore I now pass the task of keeping Vilya on to you. I trust that you will keep it safe here in Imladris, out of reach of the Enemy. And if I do fall in the inevitable battle, you must not waste precious time mourning my death, but return here at once to ensure the safety of the ring and with it our kin. The ring is your duty above all else. Can you swear to me that you will follow my words?"   
  
"I swear this to you," said Elrond, "and I will uphold the oath until my death."   
  
A shadow passed over Gil-galad's face. "We should hope that this eventuality does not develop. Better that you uphold the oath until the destruction of Sauron and his One Ring; at that time Vilya will be safe from further corruption."   
  
"Until the end of the One Ring, then." And Elrond kissed the noble lips of Gil-galad, not daring to believe that a time could ever come when his king would struck down by the terrible power of Sauron.   
  
* * * * *   
  
The ring was still in its carven box in a drawer in the table beside Elrond's bed, exactly where Gil-galad had left it nearly five thousand years earlier. There were certainly better places for it to be kept, and safer places as well, but Elrond never thought of moving the it. Gil-galad had indirectly dictated this keeping-place, and it seemed to Elrond, his usual wisdom overcome by the irrationality of emotion, that to move the ring would be disrespect or even insult to the king's choice. Others thought it foolish not to keep Vilya under heavier guard, and wondered whether Gil-galad would be outraged or merely shocked if he were alive to learn of the ring's surprising lack of protection.   
  
Legolas was merely shocked. "You keep it here?" He studied the plain bedside table, wondering what in the world could have made it worthy of holding one of the Rings of Power.   
  
"It is where Gil-galad left the ring; he put Vilya there for me to keep. A mere drawer in a table, true, but it has served its purpose thus far."   
  
"To be honest, I'd imagined something grander." The ring deserved more, he sensed. It deserved admiration in the light of day.   
  
"Grandeur and unnecessary concerns draw dangerous attention to things that are better kept secret."   
  
"I suppose..." His hand was drawn to the table. "But still I think it would be better off-" As he spoke, Legolas leaned over to pull open the drawer.   
  
But Elrond was quick, grabbing Legolas by the wrist before his fingers could reach the ancient silver handle. "What are you doing?!"   
  
"I... I don't know. I suppose I just wanted to see it..."   
  
"Don't be a fool!" Elrond hissed. "The power of Vilya lies dormant, sleeping as it has since before the fall of Gil-galad. But it needs little help to reawaken! And I dare not take any chances with Rings of Power, especially now that the Enemy is rising again in the south! These rings are a terrible burden and a danger to us all; they bring fear, sorrow, and death, and I wish no more of that!"   
  
"I meant no harm..."   
  
"But harm will come if the Ring is treated so lightly!"   
  
Legolas could say nothing, and do nothing but look to the floor with shame.   
  
"It was a mistake for me to have shown you its keeping-place."   
  
Without word or action in his own defense, Legolas turned and hurried from the room. Elrond was left alone, slowly sinking to a seated position on the edge of the bed, near the table. He sat still and expressionless for a long while, just thinking, before he laid his head on the pillow and wrapped a tangle of blankets tightly about his shoulders. Then he spoke one name, "Celebrían," and closed his eyes as he allowed all the memories resurrected earlier that morning to return and flood his body with the familiar passion of longing and loss. Though the very presence of the Ring, and Elrond's heightened awareness of it, caused the figure of Celebrían in his mind to evolve into something else- another memory from much earlier days, from before even the founding of Imladris. And then a new name became prominent and realised by Elrond's voice. "Gil-galad."   
  
* * * * *  
  
From where he stood, Elrond could see little, though he heard far too much. The natural dark of night was worsened by a thick cover of cloud, stinging smoke, and the manufactured blackness of Mordor. All that was visible was a line of tents in silhouette against the hellish fires of Mount Doom. But the crushing darkness couldn't stop the sounds of war. These came violently into Elrond's ears and passed through his mind and body as a loathsome feeling of sickness. Elves, Men, Dwarves, and any number of terrible things screamed in pain as they were cut down, and their cries rose above the loud clashing of swords to create a vile noise that would continue to ring in memory long after the battle ended. Elrond wondered about the names of those who cried out, whether they were good or evil, if they had families somewhere. He wondered if Gil-galad was one of them.   
  
He strained his eyes trying to catch any glimpse of the battlefield, but the dark was too severe and he was too far. So he went into his tent and tied the entrance firmly shut, as if the fabric would block some of the sickening noise. It was too much to bear: the constant screaming, day and night, the restless inactivity of staying in the tent, and the unceasing worry over the well-being of Gil-galad. Since the Alliance passed through the Black Gates of Mordor, Elrond had been relieved of his position as banner bearer, because Gil-galad wanted him safe, most likely, away from the actual battle. And although Elrond would have rather remained beside his lover in the very centre of the carnage, he obeyed his king's command and kept to his tent. There he took up a new position, using his great powers of healing on the wounded.   
  
But Far too few were brought to the tent be healed by Elrond's power. The vast majority of those struck in battle died quickly on the field, and even the ones who were found still alive by their comrades were frequently gone by the time they were carried back to the camp. And Elrond wondered if he would rather have more patients, hear more groans of anguish and see the flowing blood of those he knew, rather than stay idle in the tent knowing that so many were dying each day. Would it be any worse to see the horror than to imagine it?   
  
When Gil-galad finally returned, earlier than expected, he was clutching his shoulder with bloodied fingers. He staggered as he walked into the tent.   
  
"You've been wounded," said Elrond. His stomach twisted at the sight of Gil-galad's blood, and the sickness brought on by the battle's noises doubled in intensity as it washed over him and renewed its hold.   
  
"Wounded," replied Gil-galad, "but at least not dead." He smiled to try to offer Elrond a bit of calming reassurance, but the pain was too terribly evident on his face.   
  
"Undress, and hurry. The sooner I get to work, the better the chance I have of healing you."   
  
The blade of an enemy weapon had forced its way through Gil-galad's armour at the vulnerable shoulder joint. The wound was deep and severe, but not life-threatening; it was neither poisoned nor infected by the foulness of Mordor, for which Elrond was thankful. He needed only a few hours to close the wound and quicken the natural healing process with medicine and prayers. But this was all he could do in such short time, and it would be days before the effects of his treatment were complete. "Try moving it," he said.   
  
Gil-galad lifted his arm. "It's sore, but not unusable."   
  
"More of the pain should be gone by morning. Now you need to rest, and let your body concentrate its energy on repairing itself." He paused before asking, "What was it that injured you?"   
  
"A Man," Gil-galad replied, "under Sauron's control." He stretched out on his bed, which was little more than a thin mat on the hard ground, and Elrond sat beside him. "There were two of them that came upon me at once from opposite sides, and as I speared one the other swung at me with his sword. I managed to dodge his attack, but the sword was held only in his right hand, and in his left was a knife. This second weapon met its mark." He was quiet for several seconds, and then continued softly. "He was one of Elendil's kin, wearing the armour of our Alliance, though his helmet was gone and his face was streaked with blood. Corrupted by the Ring, I suppose; within Mordor its power is unendurable for those who have even the slightest weakness in their souls. As if it weren't enough to have so many of our allies struck down and killed, now we must also face losing them to the allure of the Ring and having them turn against us..."   
  
Elrond was quiet, with is eyes harshly closed and his lips thinned in seemingly helpless anger and grief. The years of unending war and killing had left their unmistakable stain on hiss mind, which would now be forever altered with the oppressive knowledge of terror, hatred, betrayal, and loss. This Gil-galad could clearly see, and such a sight to him was as unbearable as anything he had yet encountered on the battlefield. He pulled Elrond down to lie with him on the bed-mat, offering a concerned kiss, though this appeared to have little effect.   
  
"Oropher is dead," said Elrond, "along with most of his army. You have been injured, and I have seen the bodies of countless Elves, dead and dying, carried back to this camp. Now you say the army of Elendil is falling under the control of Sauron! What next?"   
  
"I don't know." Gil-galad could give no comfort through words, as there were no comforting words left to be said. The very thing that Elrond feared, that the Alliance was nearing defeat with each passing day, Gil-galad knew to be true. The army of Sauron still had the advantage of being backed by the power of the One Ring. So Gil-galad pulled Elrond closer, until Elrond's cheek rested on his uninjured shoulder, and hoped that the both of them could find some sanctuary in the simple being of each other, the feel and scent of familiar skin and hair, a small shining essence of home in the foreign blackness of Mordor.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"He left the Hall of Fire early," said Elladan, "long before the singing was through, which I found strange. And when I afterward came to his room to see why, I found him asleep. I thought it best not to wake him. He has been very strained these past few days, both with news from all the scouts and by decisions concerning the Ring. It worries me."   
  
"I understand," said Legolas. The two turned a corner and descended three steps into a long starlit corridor.   
  
"Then you know you must not stay long to speak with him. And if he sleeps still, I trust you will use your best judgment in deciding whether or not it is truly necessary to wake him."   
  
"It is. I must speak with him now."   
  
"Then please remember my words," said Elladan, "and do not keep him any longer than you must. My father is indeed great and powerful, but even he needs his rest." He stopped, motioning toward the end of the corridor. "His bedroom is through that door."   
  
Legolas caught himself wanting to say, "I know," but instead said, "Thank you," and then kept silent as he watched Elladan retreat.   
  
Beyond the door, Elrond was asleep, still wearing his formal clothing. Legolas stood just inside the room with the door closed behind him for a long while, without further action. Whether this was because he was afraid to wake Elrond and risk angering him further after their unfriendly parting earlier that day, or because he was unexpectedly intrigued by the way in which the great Peredhel seemed so innocent and small while asleep, or perhaps because of some combination of the both, he wasn't certain. But several long minutes passed before Legolas found the courage to approach Elrond and gingerly place a hand upon his shoulder.   
  
The touch didn't appear to wake him, though he moved slightly. His expression, which had before had been more worried than anything else, shifted to peaceful. He murmured something too soft for Legolas to hear.   
  
"What?" Legolas knelt beside the bed and moved his hand from Elrond's shoulder to his wrist.   
  
"I thought he killed you," Elrond repeated, eyes unopened, still half dreaming.   
  
"Killed?"   
  
"On the field, I though I saw you dead, from the fire..."   
  
"...I don't understand..."   
  
"Or perhaps it was merely a very long dream..."   
  
"A dream?"   
  
"Yes. Hmm... A very long dream, so like eternity, as if all the cruel centuries of time had played themselves out since I last saw you."   
  
"But... I was here just this morning." Legolas felt Elrond's hand move beneath his own, and soon their fingers became intertwined.   
  
"I know." Elrond smiled within his dreamworld. "But it seems so terribly long... since you last kissed me..."   
  
"Kissed... you?" Legolas whispered.   
  
"Yes..." Elrond's free hand reached up and brushed against Legolas' face, then slid through his hair around to grasp the back of his neck, pulling him closer until their lips met.   
  
Though the kiss was unexpected and strange, Legolas didn't think it unpleasant. And after the initial second of shock had passed, he found himself acting as an eager participant, returning all of Elrond's offerings. The slick sweet taste of Elrond's mouth and the sensation of violently hot electricity flashing though his body filled his mind so entirely that he could think only of the very fraction of a second in which he was living, nothing before, and nothing that might come afterward. He scarcely noticed Elrond's hand moving from his neck to his shoulder, then down his back to his hip, coaxing him onto the bed; the entire sequence to him was a segue of one heated passion into the next and then another so that the physical specifics of each was immediately forgotten, while the emotional effects remained and grew stronger by the minute.   
  
There was such longing, Legolas found, hidden behind the façade of lust. All the desperate needs cultivated by too many years of neglect were actualised in every movement of Elrond's lips, tongue, and fingertips. And Legolas' body became saturated with the sensation of being so needed as he in turn begged for more, and closer, contact. Every small glancing touch caused his skin to shiver; every pass of Elrond's tongue over his own pulled him into deeper desire- for the kiss, for further affection, and for Elrond, who had never before entered his thoughts in such a way but now promised to be bound there forever.   
  
When he finally pulled away to take a breath, his head was spinning and his arms shook, barely able to support the weight of his body as he leaned over the bed. Elrond opened his eyes, pure and sleepy. Legolas chanced a small innocent smile, but this disappeared as the look in Elrond's eyes abruptly shifted.   
  
"You!" Elrond said. He sat up, moving away from Legolas.   
  
"Yes, me. ...Who did you think it was?"   
  
Elrond didn't answer. He looked down to the spot where he had lain seconds earlier, then to the bedside table, then out the window at the stars.   
  
Legolas stepped slowly off the bed, being careful to keep his flushed face hidden from Elrond. He stood near the centre of the room, not speaking for several awkward minutes, until he could no longer bear the silence. "I'm sorry," he said with a small shaky voice. "...I mean, I'm sorry about earlier... this morning. With the ring. I wanted to say so... I came to apologise. That is, I'm here to apologise... When I arrived you were asleep, and I didn't know how to wake you, and then... I just... I wanted to apologise. I WANT to apologise. For being foolish. This morning. That's why I'm here. I'm sorry. About the ring."   
  
"It's not your fault," said Elrond. His voice was flat and expressionless. "All Rings of Power have a certain allure, and if one does not make an effort to resist it, one can easily be overwhelmed. Now that you know to be wary, it will not happen again."   
  
"I am sorry."   
  
"I know. Now please leave."   
  
"I'm also sorry about... what just-"   
  
"Please leave," Elrond interrupted. He had closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, as if trying to ward off emotions and memories that were proving difficult to avoid.   
  
"My lord Elrond..."   
  
"I asked you to leave."   
  
"Who was killed?"   
  
After a moment of silence, Elrond said, "No-one." He was looking at the table.   
  
"It was Gil-galad, wasn't it?" Legolas asked, and Elrond chose once again not to answer. Legolas moved back toward the bed, and sat on the side. "Tell me about Gil-galad."   
  
Another moment of silence fell between the Elves. "Ereinion Gil-galad," Elrond said finally, and a bitter smile passed briefly across his lips. "He ruled as High King of the Noldor for thirty-five hundred years- all of the Second Age. I lived with him in Lindon before we declared war on Sauron, and before Rivendell was founded. He fell in battle the very day Isildur ended the war by cutting the Ring from Sauron's hand, and I was there to watch... Just that morning he and I had been arguing over whether or not I should remain at the camp. He wanted me to stay in our tent, safe and out of the way, but it seemed to me at that time that I should be on the field with him, carrying the blue and silver banner, as I had done in earlier years of the war. It was maddening staying in that tent. All I could think about was Gil-galad, whether he was dead or yet living, and every time I heard footsteps outside I would rush to the tent's door and look out, hoping to see him standing there but at the same time dreading that what I'd find instead was a procession of mourners carrying his lifeless body back to me... I was spared that image, at least, though I think that given the true outcome, I would have preferred to have a body to properly bury."  
  
Elrond's voice was faltering. "Instead, all that was left was ash and charred armour. All Sauron had to do was touch him. Touch him! And he was killed instantly by the fire, reduced to nothing but ash. Until that moment I had believed that if I were there, standing by him, he could never fall. As long as he was within my sight he would be invincible; my presence would protect him. It was when he and I were apart that he would surely die, since I was so certain that nothing so terrible could happen while I watched. Not even the evil of Mordor could be that cruel to me. So I thought, foolishly... Then to have him die right there, so near..."   
  
The silence returned, heavy and thick, as Elrond's voice faded. He was still staring at the bedside table, as Legolas was staring at him. Every few seconds a shadow of memory would show itself on Elrond's face, and he let slip tiny hints of past smiles and frowns.   
  
On mere impulse, Legolas leaned over and kissed Elrond, softly, as he smiled.   



	2. Trinity 2

  
When Legolas awoke, the room was full of the pink light of early morning which had filtered through the trees to cast patterns of curious shadows across the walls and floor. He smiled, closing his eyes to the soft brightness, and turned his face toward his pillow. The smooth, though somewhat tangled, texture of Elrond's hair against his cheek produced a surge of warmth and contentment in his mind. He kissed the dark strands.   
  
Beneath his hand, he could feel Elrond's shoulder rising and falling with each slow breath. The rhythm was both calming, in that it made Legolas wish that he and Elrond might be forgotten by time and able to stay perfectly as they were in dreamy unreality, and exciting, as it in the same moment caused him to grow restless, tingling with inactivity, heated and tense and longing to allow his mouth and hands to wander the newfound curiosity that was Elrond's body. He settled for something midway between the two impulses and feathered his hand from Elrond's shoulder to bare chest, slowly tracing his fingers around each small detail of musculature hidden beneath the skin.   
  
Elrond, drawing a deep breath, leaned his head backward toward Legolas. "You..." he said.   
  
"Yes, me." Legolas grinned as he caught Elrond's hand, which had come to meet his own. "Were you hoping for someone else?"   
"No." He shifted around to face his lover, and a soft dreamy smile graced his lips. "Only you." He kissed Legolas- once on his closed eyelid, once on his cheek, and a third time on his mouth, though this kiss was very faint and halfway missed its mark, falling to the left and toward his jaw. And Elrond's lips lingered in this position rather than pulling away, so that Legolas could feel the warm breath against his skin. He found these tiny movements of air perfect and maddening.   
  
He moved his head so that his mouth met Elrond's more completely and his body buzzed at the touch. Memories of every small desire from the previous night came back to him in a speeding flood, and these were passed into the kiss. He moved closer, eliminating the few torturous inches that separated them, until Elrond's heated body was pressed against his own, and his knee slid between Elrond's thighs.   
  
Elrond hissed with a quick inhalation and tilted his head sharply back. Legolas trailed the broken kiss in a line from Elrond's mouth to his ear, then down his neck to his shoulder, fingers preceding lips and tongue always by a small distance.   
  
"I think..." Elrond said between quick breaths, "that we will be late... for breakfast..."   
  
* * * * *   
  
Legolas quietly shut the door behind him as he left, and took a few light steps backward. A foolish grin played across his face, though he tried to suppress its telling presence in case he chanced to meet any other member of the household on his way back to his own bedroom. He started toward the main corridor.   
  
"That you are coming from his bedroom at this hour," spoke a voice from behind him, "makes me wonder what sort of business you have with my father."   
  
Legolas' body tensed as he turned around, his heart quickening. "Elladan."   
  
"Yes." Elladan sat against the wall, his face a dark shadow as the sun shone brightly in through the window behind him. "I returned here last night shortly after I left you, to see if your business was finished and to consult my father regarding the quest with the Ring. But I found you still talking, and so I decided to wait for a while outside the door. Then the voices ceased and yet you still remained with him. I waited longer, and longer even, until the night had passed and dawn had come, and even then you remained within his bedroom. Until now." He stood, smirking. "And I am very anxious to hear your excuse as to why."   
  
"We were talking," said Legolas, "about history. The Rings, the war of the Alliance, and..." He felt his ears grow hot. "My own father never speaks of such things. I found it interesting."   
  
"Interesting?"   
  
"Yes, he told me the story of how Gil-galad-"   
  
"Gil-galad!" Elladan interrupted. That name spoken by Elrond had been a prayer of adoration, but it came as a hateful curse off the tongue of Elladan. "Then your situation is as I feared."   
  
"How do you mean?"   
  
Elladan smiled, a cruel taunt, and walked away toward the main corridor.   
  
Legolas followed him. "Tell me what you mean!"   
  
Elladan went up the three steps and continued in his quick pace toward the nearest terrace. When they were both outside, he said, "I don't suppose you think me deaf enough not to have noticed what you were doing last night?"   
  
"I don't know what you're talking about," said Legolas. His voice was unsteady.   
  
"No, you wouldn't, would you? You really have no idea what you're doing."   
  
Legolas said nothing in reply, but he felt strangely weakened by Elladan's words. There was fear within his mind, the sort of fear that told him that whatever Elladan was about to say, no matter how terrible it was, would be entirely true.   
  
"They were lovers, you know, during the Second Age."   
  
"He told me."   
  
"But it was more than that. It was not simply love on my father's part, but adoration, infatuation, obsession. The world revolved around Gil-galad and nothing else. He was earth and air and fire and water and time and space. Everything. Whatever Gil-galad did was law, whatever he said was truth. He was higher and more brilliant than even Ilúvatar in my father's eyes. And now you try foolishly to compete with that!"   
  
"What?" Legolas whispered, and he choked on the word.   
  
"My mother could not, and that is why she left. It is true that he loved her, and that they were close, and that they cared very deeply for each other. But still their bond was not complete. There was always some strange small gap between them, blocking the last faraway recesses of my father's heart that she could not reach, no matter how she tried. And all because she was not Gil-galad, and could not hope to be." He paused. "After her ordeal with the orcs he seemed so concerned, so completely devoted and open, that she thought perhaps the grief had changed him. But within a week of her recovery he said something to her, something that she in her pain refused to repeat to me, though I am certain it was a story about his precious Gil-galad killing the orcs. And on that day she realised that no matter what the case, no matter what she did, she would always have to settle for the lesser share of his love. So she became distant from him. He tried, a few times, to comfort her after that; I don't think he even knew what he had done. But she left within the year. So while I partially blame my father for her departure, but I am quicker to lay the blame on Gil-galad, who has poisoned my father's life and mind and blinded him to everything that should be important in this world- his family, and his duty to the Elves."   
  
"Duty?"   
  
"He should be High King," said Elladan. There was a stinging bitterness in his voice. "He was the logical heir to the crown. Gil-galad had no son to take his place, and my father was the only one remaining of the descendants of Fingolfin. But he refused the crown because he himself could not live up to the image of the High King he had created. Nobody can! Not he, not my mother, not I, nor my brother and sister, and not you!"   
  
Legolas had been taking slow steps backward throughout Elladan's speech, and he now found himself pressed against a carven stone pillar, clutching the hem of his tunic violently in his fists. Everything was too hot, stifling. He could not stand being near or even looking at Elladan. "Why do you say these things to me?"   
  
"Because you ought to know! Trust me when I say that it is better you find out now, from me, instead of on your own a year from now, when it is too late and you find it too hard to leave him. If you follow this path which you have started, it is certain that you will suffer for it! Could you live with constant failure and inadequacy, which would come through no fault of your own but rather because of his impossible expectations? I have lived with it all my life, and so I know very well how it feels. So many times I have gone to him with my accomplishments, but nothing is ever good enough. If I were to go in there right now and say that I had all on my own killed fifty thousand orcs, he would turn to me with his sad smile and tell me how Gil-galad once killed seventy thousand! Do you suppose you could take that? The shame of always disappointing him, and the pain of knowing that at every second, with each word, movement, breath and thought, you were being compared unfavourably to another? You are a mere messenger, Legolas! A lesser prince from a lesser kingdom, unknown outside of your little forest, sent to tell us that some creature has escaped from your father's guard. How valiant! And you endeavour to challenge a king for your lover's affections!"   
  
A hand, Elladan's, was on his shoulder, Legolas felt. His eyes were shut too tightly to see, though he had no use for sight if all it would show was Elladan's bitter mocking smile.   
  
"Go home, little Prince," Elladan continued. "Save yourself the sorrow and leave now. Leave him. Forget about your frivolous affair and go back to where it's safe. Think no more on my father, and go home."   
  
Legolas could still taste Elrond's lips on his own, and still easily see in his eyes all the secret starlit actions of the previous night. Thoughts and memories of raw emotions flew throughout his body. He remembered the texture of Elrond's hair, the feeling of his skin, the sound of his breath, the heated scent of their two forms clinging together so close but somehow, still not close enough. One by one the senses knocked down Elladan's words and rendered them meaningless, unimportant, until finally Legolas had the courage to look on Elladan with contempt and pity and say, "No." He stepped away. "I don't think I will forget. I don't think I can."   
  
"Very well." Elladan scowled. "You've been warned. Now if you'll excuse me, I must prepare to leave for Mordor with the Hobbit."   
  
Legolas stood still for several seconds, watching Elladan go, waiting until he was well out of sight before leaving in the opposite direction to find Gandalf.   
  
* * * * *   
  
The setting sun shone brightly in Elrohir's eyes, causing him to squint and raise his hand against the light as he looked toward his father, who stood with his back to the window. He scarecely noticed Elladan step into the doorway, arriving late and looking sullen.   
  
"You finally arrive," Elrond said. "Your brother and I have been waiting."   
  
Elladan ignored the veiled reprimand. "I hope you do not keep us long," he said, "as we have much to do in preparation for our journey."   
  
"That is why I have summoned you here," replied Elrond. Weariness was evident in his voice, and he could look neither of his sons in the eye. "I have thought on this a long while since this morning, and have decided it is best that you do not go."   
  
"What?!" Elladan cried.   
  
"Ada..." said Elrohir.   
  
Elrond raised his hand to them. "It is not your place to dispute my call."   
  
"But this is madness!" said Elladan. "We leave in a mere eight days and yet you still see fit to alter the plan! You would send the Hobbit off with the Ring and no guard?! You spoke earlier of nine companions, including delegates from the four Free Peoples of the world. If Elrohir and I leave the company, there will be only seven, and no Elves!"   
  
"There will be nine," Elrond said calmly. "It seems to me that all four Hobbits will end up going, rather than the two or three intended. Gandalf has often alluded to it, and indeed whenever I speak with any of them they have their minds on nothing else. Of course Gandalf will go, and Aragorn, and also Boromir of Gondor, as discussed, and the Dwarf Gloin's son Gimli. Then as for Elves, Prince Legolas of Mirkwood has volunteered to take your place."   
  
Elladan hissed quietly between furiously clenched teeth, but said nothing. Elrohir, beside him, marred his brow with worry and spoke his concern. "If I may say it, I believe Elladan and myself to be the better choice in this matter. Have you any assurance of this prince's capabilities?"   
  
"He is a highly skilled bowman, I am told. And while he has not the experience of you two, I believe he shall prove just as competent in battle, should it come to that."   
  
"Are we to then sit idly here?"   
  
"You and Elladan both will have your role in this history," said Elrond. His voice grew softer in contrast to Elrohir's rising passion. "But it is not with the Ring. If the situation worsens, if Saruman launches an offensive from Isengard to advance on the valley, then you will be needed here."   
  
"But if not-"   
  
"If not," Elrond interrupted, "then we will all thank Elbereth for the good fortune. But now my mind is set, and you will stay in Imladris." He turned his back to his sons, and looked off out the window.   
  
Elladan reached and took his brother's hand, squeezing it with such terrible rage that Elrohir tensed his body and clenched his teeth against the pain. The two, one fanatic and one confused, left the room quickly.   
  
"But why would he do this?" Elrohir asked once they stood beyond the door to Elrond's office. "Why would he volunteer to be part of such a risk? What reason does he have? And why would Ada allow it? It makes no sense."   
  
Elladan's raging eyes met his brother's, but as he was about to speak he caught sight of a figure standing further down the corridor among the shadows and shifted slightly to focus on this new interest. Elrohir too turned to see, and his gaze fell upon Legolas.   
  
A slow hiss of hatred escaped Elladan's lips. "Well done, little prince. I hope you are pleased with your disruption."   
  
Legolas remained silent, and Elladan stepped toward him. "It is a clever plan- that much I will admit. Take the short road to greatness and glory. Become with one deed a hero to be remembered in songs of future ages. But it is also a foolish plan, for you will surely get yourself killed." He stopped less than an arm's length from Legolas, who still had neither moved nor spoken. "Do you really think that this one act will balance you with Gil-galad in my father's mind?"   
  
"Do you think it would balance you?" asked Legolas.   
  
Elladan's statement stiffened. "I would go to defeat the evil that governed my mother's torment, not to impress my father."   
  
"Just as I go to avenge my forefather, who died during the Last Alliance. That is what we tell ourselves and others. But I think we both know the true reason for our desire to fight in Mordor." He placed a hand on Elladan's shoulder. "You and I are much the same, Elladan, and it grieves me to think that under different circumstances we might have been dear friends instead of bitter rivals."   
  
"You flatter yourself to entertain such thoughts." Drawing back away from the touch, he refined his gaze upon the prince from anger to unfiltered hatred. Legolas was very much like him, too much, and this thought kindled the rancor. To go to Mordor and live to tell of his victory over the Dark Lord was the one thing Elladan could do to prove himself higher than Gil-galad, as it was the one thing at which Gil-galad had failed. And now to have Legolas step in for the same reasons, fighting for a different facet of the same prize, was unbearable. His passions shot wildly between fury and wretchedness; he had trouble knowing whether he desired more to draw his sword and kill Legolas as he stood, or simply to break down in miserable sobs of defeat. But he stoned his features in order to maintain a visage of composure in front his enemy.   
  
Elrohir advanced and took his brother gently by the arm, leading Elladan away with little protest. He paid neither word nor gaze to Legolas as they retreated, but fixed his attentions on Elladan and murmured, "This is not a point worthy to argue. We will find some other way."   
  
Elladan clasped his hand again, this time with less ferocity. They left quickly.   
  
* * * * *   
  
"They will forgive you. Today they are willful children, but tomorrow the anger should pass. They have grown too sure of having their way, I fear, and they are quick to act without thought; it comes from too long following naught but their own command. Yet they mean well. This grudge against you will not be overly harsh." Elrond tightened his grip on Legolas' wrist, trying to provoke some, any response.   
  
Legolas smiled weakly but would not look to meet Elrond's gaze. "Perhaps," was all he said.   
  
"Legolas..." Hesitantly, Elrond reached up and placed his free hand on Legola's cheek, coaxing him to turn until the two sat face to face. But still the prince would not lift his eyes. "Do you regret what happened between us last night?" Elrond asked.   
  
"No," said Legolas. He kissed the hand that half covered his mouth. "Of all that has transpired since I left Mirkwood, it is the one thing I would not want to change."   
  
"Then why do you act this way?"   
  
"I was speaking earlier with Elladan, and his words trouble me still. I know that he spoke carelessly and without thought of consequence, and that not all he said can be taken as entirely true, but..."   
  
"What did he say?" Elrond slipped his arm about Legolas' shoulders, pulling him closer and pressing a kiss onto his smooth pale hair. "I will listen, if you wish to tell."   
  
"I do not wish for you to hear."   
  
"Then I will not press you. But sometimes it helps to talk with another."   
  
Elrond's body was warm, and the smooth fabric of his clothing comforting to Legolas' cheek. He sat still, listening to the sound of his lover's heartbeat and breath, willing to return to the innocent bliss of that morning though Elladan's poisoned speech lived vibrantly on the surface of his mind, marring his thoughts with the name of Gil-galad. He became terribly aware of each movement of Elrond's, no matter how small. Every tensing of muscle and slight shifting of position was magnified. Were these conjured by some ancient memory? Were Elrond's hands, sliding down and around Legolas' back to catch him in a tighter embrace, persuaded by thoughts of Gil-galad? And were the words the lord softly spoke, sweet foreign sounds in the old tongue of the Calaquendi, vestiges of another time and another love?   
  
"_Nammë eleni lúmemmassë; vanyuvammë sinnomello..._"  
  
"What is that?"   
  
"It is a line from a verse which was written for me at the time of the Last Alliance, by Gil-galad."   
  
So Elladan had spoken more truth than Legolas had cared to believe. He shut his eyes and clenched his teeth, working to contain the fire that surged through him, and pulled away from Elrond. "Gil-galad said that to you?"   
  
"Yes," said Elrond, "why?" His eyes questioned Legolas' action, and he tried to pull Legolas back toward him, though Legolas would not allow himself to be held.   
  
A heavy quietness lay between the two, rendering the air thick with uncertainty, until Legolas asked, "When you met, what was the first thing Gil-galad ever said to you?"   
  
Elrond smiled fainly at the remembrance. "The first thing... It was long ago, in the First Age, and I was very young. I had just come by boat to the Isle of Balar, with Maglor, and he took me inside a great hall. There were so many Elves there... I tried to cling to Maglor's hand, but he had to leave me, to speak to Círdan, and I was alone in this busy, frightening place. Then Gil-galad came. He was tall and strange, but he sat nest to me and smiled kindly, and told me his name was Ereinion. He asked me if I was hungry. I told him yes, so he handed me a piece of fruit, and took my hand so I would not feel so alone. I remember it very well..."   
  
"I suppose you would. Do you remember Elladan's first words?"   
  
Elrond's smile died and his voice grew darker. "His first words were to Celebrían. I was not there to hear."   
  
"Were you there to see him ride off to his first hunt, or welcome him home from his first victory over the orcs?"   
  
"I... I don't know, I don't remember."   
  
"And were you listening as he told you of his first night spent away from home, sleeping under the stars? Did you ever notice the pride in his voice as he spoke of his own deeds and his brother's? Have you ever given him reassurance when it was needed, or praise?"   
  
"I do not know where you mean to lead with this questioning-"   
  
"Or," Legolas interrupted, "were you too busy reflecting on the loss of your dear Gil-galad?"   
  
Narrowing his eyes and thinning his lips, Elrond leaned back. A dreadful silence hovered in the air. Cold resentment was most evident in his face, then suffering but intact pride. His breath, though louder than usual, was evenly calm. He easily kept up the appearance of unshakable grace save for in his eyes, which cried aloud his inner torment with accents of shock and pain.   
  
Legolas feared to look too long at that pain. He cast his glance down upon Elrond's hand, resting beside him, and moved slowly to take it in his own. But as he himself had done seconds earlier, Elrond pulled roughly away and turned a shoulder to his concern.   
  
"I now know that what I first dreaded to say must be spoken," Legolas said quietly. "I feared that your son was voicing mere petty jealousy, but alas it seems that he knows the truth, while your mind is clouded. But what I just told you were his sentiments, not mine, so do not scorn me for bringing them to your knowledge. Please..."   
  
With a still voice that matched his air of dignity, Elrond replied, "I am hard pressed to believe that one who spoke with such fervour was simply reciting the thoughts of another."   
  
"Perhaps you are right." Standing, Legolas took a few hesitant steps away from the divan, smoothing his tunic over his body in an effort to appear calm, or to calm himself, though his hands were shaking. "Perhaps I do side with your son now, and take his viewpoint as my own. But if I do, it is out of concern for you, and care. Your emotions are anchored in the past at the expense of the present. Do you truly wish to live this way, looking always backward and lamenting things that cannot be undone?"   
  
He stopped in the doorway as he made his way from the room. "What I told you," he said, "about not regretting what happened last night, is the truth. And I hope it is still the truth for you, if ever you care to think on and remember the near past as dearly as you do the far."   



	3. Trinity 3

  
Elrond did not look at the Ring. It remained safely within its unopened box, and the box within his hand. He did look at the box, studying the tiny leaves, swirls, and letters carved into the wood, and he brushed away a few small bits of dust from its surface. Then he turned to Glorfindel, who stood behind. "It should be kept somewhere safer, especially in these times."   
  
"You're sure of this?"   
  
The Ring box was light in Elrond's hand, and warm, and it seemed to radiate such an aura of comfort and familiarity that he was loath to let it go. For a second he reconsidered, thinking that perhaps it would be wiser to keep the Ring in its centuries-old place at his bedside. But the words of Legolas, now five days old, sang too loudly within his memory.   
  
"Yes," he said to Glorfindel, and he handed the box to his friend. "Take it to the cellars and put it under lock, and you are to have the only key. And of course you will tell no-one; all who now know of its whereabouts are to believe that it is still in this room."   
  
"Of course." Glorfindel took the Ring's box, though to him it was heavy. He clenched his fingers about it, ever tighter. And he would not look at it, denying himself the opportunity of seeing the small and fragile metal clasp that stuck, unlocked, upon the box, barely holding it shut. He had strength enough to resist the call of Vilya; he would not look upon it.   
  
"Good," said Elrond. "It will be less of a burden on my mind once I know the Ring is safely locked away." He smiled at Glorfindel, who nodded back and turned to leave.   
  
"And Glorfindel..." Elrond added.   
  
"Yes?"   
  
"If you see my sons, would you tell them to come here? I wish to speak with them."   
  
"Certainly. What's the purpose?"   
  
"No purpose. I merely want to talk, and hear about their recent travels."   
  
* * * * *   
  
In his hand he held a silver goblet filled with wine, but Legolas did not drink. He stood leaning against a pillar near the doorway, watching the others in the Hall sing and play at merriment despite the hints of foreboding and dread that cursed the air. No-one spoke of the next morning. They were content to disregard it for the time being with a juvenile hope that perhaps it would not come. No-one spoke of rings or quests or Mordor.   
  
"You're worried."   
  
Legolas glanced to his right, where one of the sons of Elrond stood, smiling sadly at him. He suspected it was Elrohir; Elladan would surely have found reason to be quarrelsome and harsh.   
  
"Yes," he said.   
  
"Well, you do have good reason to be so. I too would be in a dark mood if I were leaving for Mordor at dawn." Elrohir held out his hand. "Come, walk with me a moment."   
  
The two left the hall and Elrohir lead the way to the terrace. They walked here, alone, and Elrohir spoke. "I first of all wish to apologise for the behaviour of my brother these past several days, and also for my own lack of judgement. It was wrong of us to act against our father's will, and although we could not see it at the time, we realise now our mistake. I suppose we have grown too accustomed to always being the ones going off to battle or errantry, and it seemed strange to be asked to remain at home when so much is at stake."   
  
Stopping, he turned to face Legolas, and lay a friendly hand on the prince's shoulder. "But after consideration, we came to understand the decision. We are needed here now, and will be needed to fight the wars of Gondor when the armies of Mordor are released, just as you will be needed to watch over the safety of the Ringbearer. And since you had volunteered your services to do so, there was little question of who should walk with the company. It is folly to turn down such bravely offered help in these black times. We can now plainly see that, and we admire our father's choice in the matter."   
  
"These are Elladan's thoughts as well?"   
  
Elrohir laughed. "Yes, though he will never say so to you. He is too proud to admit he was ever wrong. But if you can forgive him his earlier misconduct and start a relationship anew, I promise you will find him to be far more agreeable than his mien would most often show. He can be a very good friend, and a loyal comrade."   
  
"I will have to take your word on that," Legolas replied. But he was heartened by Elrohir's speech. If Elrohir and indeed Elladan had forgiven him, even partially, it would be one less worrying darkness to him. He hated to think of Elrond's sons as his enemies.   
  
Laughing again, Elrohir took Legolas by the arm and led him inside. "You need not trust only my words. Follow me- I have something for you."   
  
He brought Legolas into his own bedroom and showed him to the dressing table. Upon this lay two knives, identical, with bright perfect silver blades. Both blade and handle were etched with delicate curved and swirling lines of fair Elven crafting. They were things of beauty, gleaming in the soft candlelight, but also sharp and deadly as any sword. Carefully, Elrohir lifted them from the table and held them, handle first, out toward Legolas. "These are for you," he said, "a gift from Elladan and me, both as an apology and as a token of good luck. They are our hunting knives- light and easily concealed, and less awkward than a sword when you are pressed for space. They have finished off many orcs over the years, and I hope they will be as useful to you, in case you ever run out of arrows."   
  
Legolas slowly took the knives in his hands, holding them out at arm's length and then close to his face, turning his wrists and watching as the etchings flashed and the silver shone. "I... Thank you," he murmured. "I don't know what else to say..."   
  
Elrohir grinned. "And that says more than enough. I'm glad you like them."   
  
"They're beautiful."   
  
"They will serve you well." Elrohir watched a moment longer as Legolas admired the knives, moving them in a slow pantomime of battle. Then he asked, "Have you seen my father at all?"   
  
"No," said Legolas, his voice quiet. "I've not seen him for days, and he wasn't in the Hall this evening with the others."   
  
"Then you should go to him. He is in his bedroom, and he wants to see you once more before you leave."   
  
Legolas' heart skipped in his chest. "Right now?"   
  
"Yes, now." Squeezing Legolas' shoulder in reassurance, Elrohir led him back to the door. "I think you will find him waiting for you."   
  
Legolas said another quick thanks to Elrohir, then started quickly down the corridor. As soon as he was out of sight, Elladan slid from his hiding place in the shadows of a niche in the wall.   
  
"You speak too sweetly to him."   
  
Elrohir smiled and took his brother's hand. "I have always found that coddling sweetness provides far better results than confrontation."   
  
"I would have simply killed him."   
  
"I know, but then all would be disrupted, and you would be punished, and I too would suffer by association. The company would leave for Mordor while we were trapped here under guard, and then we would have no chance of taking the Ring."   
  
Elladan scowled. "I still want to kill him."   
  
Elrohir held his sweet smile and lifted a hand to cup Elladan's cheek. "There will be time for that later. But we must follow my plan, and focus on what is important: the Hobbits, and the Ring. Now come," he said, pulling Elladan behind him as he walked, "we must return to the Hall before we are missed."   
  
* * * * *   
  
The door was open when Legolas came to Elrond's bedroom, and a pale yellow light shone from within. He stopped in the doorway, unnoticed, before hesitantly entering. "You asked for me?"   
  
Elrond stood near the far wall facing the arcade windows. At Legolas' words, he turned and advanced toward him. "I wanted to say goodbye to you," he said, "before you left. And the Hall of Fire is such a crowded place tonight, I thought that perhaps we could talk better here." He smiled, and placed a hand on Legolas' arm, caressing gently downward. "You look happy."   
  
"I am," Legolas replied.   
  
The two were still and silent for a moment. Then Elrond pulled Legolas into welcoming embrace, twining his arms tightly and drawing their bodies together. Legolas lay his head on Elrond's shoulder, and lost his hands in the thick fabric of the back of Elrond's robe.   
  
"I'm sorry," Elrond whispered to the soft blonde hair that stuck to his lips. "I'm sorry for letting our last meeting end as it did, and for being so foolish as to let you leave. Since then I have thought on nothing but your words."   
  
"You will forgive me for saying them?"   
  
"Forgive you?" Elrond grinned. "No, I think it is you who must forgive me, for needing such things to be said."   
  
Legolas squeezed his arms tighter around Elrond's waist. "I might be able to forgive you. But I'm not sure if I should. You'll have to convince me." As he glanced intuitively toward the bed, a small irregularity caught his gaze, and a curious smile played on his face. "Your table is gone."   
  
"What?"   
  
Freeing himself from Elrond's embrace, he walked toward the empty place where the Ring's table had been. "Your little table- it's gone."   
  
"Oh, that..." Elrond said. "Yes, I put it away. I had Glorfindel take Gil- ...my Ring elsewhere for safekeeping. And since the table held no other purpose but to house Vilya, I got rid of it. It was always in the way, anyhow."   
  
"In the way?"   
  
"Of everything. It was too strong a reminder of things past."   
  
Legolas turned back to Elrond, who had come up closer behind him, and lifted his hands to gently touch the long plaits which fell down in front of Elrond's ears to his shoulders and chest. His fingers slid easily down the length of the hair to the unbound ends; he lifted these to his mouth and kissed the loose black strands, then moved his hands to rest on Elrond's neck. Though as he leaned to meet Elrond's lips with his own, Elrond turned aside.   
  
"Legolas..." He placed his own kiss on the prince's cheek. "There are things I have to tell you."   
  
He led Legolas to the bed, and they both sat, side by side. For a moment he was quiet, unsure of how to start. But he forced himself to speak at last, calmly and with simple words. "I told you just now that I thought for a long time on what you said to me. For days and nights I did nothing else. At first I thought on Gil-galad. And you and Elladan were both right- I have based my life too much on his presence, though he is gone, and it cost me. It cost me Celebrían, and also my children. They spent so much time away from here... I always wondered why..."   
  
Legolas ran the back of his hand across the familiar blanket and remembered the night not long ago when he and Elrond had lain there together, though he tried to push the image from his mind and concentrate on Elrond's words.   
  
"I don't think I'll ever be able to forget Gil-galad, not entirely. So there will always be some memory of him to influence me. But since my time with him is passed, and it will never return, I can try to keep the memories as just that- memories- and nothing more."   
  
Again, Legolas tried a move to kiss Elrond, but again he dodged the attentions.   
  
"No... I'm sorry, not now..."   
  
Legolas still smiled, though less brightly than before and more unsure. "Why not?" His voice was unsure as well.   
  
"Because..." Elrond's jaw tensed somewhat, and he could only look down at his hands, also tense, to find the strength to continue. "Because I thought a long while on Celebrían as well. I was unfair to her, for so many years. I loved her more than she would be able to guess by my actions. I still do. And though she is no longer here with me, she is not gone forever, and we will be together again eventually. Possibly very soon, if this quest to destroy the One Ring is successful. And then... I hope she gives me the chance to try again, and that we can live in the West as we should have here." He was quiet for several long seconds. "Do you understand why I say this to you?"   
  
After a pause, Legolas quietly said, "Yes."   
  
Elrond reached up and gently stroked Legolas' hair, meeting his eyes with a warm but sad gaze. "I will never lose affection for you, Legolas. And every now and then I know that thoughts of you will cross my mind, and I will remember with fondness our few moments together." Slowly, he pulled Legolas into another embrace. Legolas leaned against him heavily.   
  
"I will remember you as well," Legolas said, pressing his face into the fabric of Elrond's robe to hide his burning eyes as Elrond played soothing caresses down his back. "Do you know why I go to Mordor?" he said.   
  
"I have an idea."   
  
"Elladan said that you would always compare me to Gil-galad, and that I would always come up short because he was a great hero and I've done nothing, and... and we both thought that if we were the one to destroy the Ring then... then you would..." His voice wavered and choked, and he said no more.   
  
"You don't have to go," Elrond softly replied. "It's not too late. I could easily find someone else. Elladan or Elrohir would gladly take your place. You don't have to go."   
  
Wiping his eyes and smoothing his hair, Legolas sat upright, with Elrond's arm still a comforting presence on his back. "No," he said, "I still want to go. I will still go for you, to see the Ring destroyed, so that your promise to Gil-galad will be fulfilled and you can go into the West to be with... to be with Celebrían... and be happy."   
  
Elrond took Legolas' hand and offered a single, final kiss. His lips lingered on the pale skin, as did his breath, as he captured one last memory of Legolas in his mind, as he wished to remember him. "Thank you," he whispered.   
  
The two were still then, and silent, and the only sound in the room was the faint music which came in through the windows. They listened. It was the singing from the Hall of Fire, the beautiful but melancholy voices of the Elves blending with bells and harps to share an ancient beloved song. It rang clear in the night air as if directed by the moon and stars, and the melody rose and fell in patterns, sometimes sighing, sometimes lamenting, but still always sweet.   
  
_Cólilvë undu, cólilvë amba.   
Cólilvero taurenna ringa.   
A nyéna i herun vanwa firala!   
I sornë oacóla meldanya síra! _  
  
"I do not recognise the song," Legolas said. "What do they sing?"   
  
_Ar tauressë oromardë;   
Sessë linga silala silmë.   
Ar mardessë alta caima;   
Sessë linga cullo aira.   
A nyéna i herun vanwa firala!   
I sornë oacóla meldanya síra!_  
  
"It is a song of sorrow in times of farewell," replied Elrond, "sung by those who are sending loved ones off to war. My children sing it tonight for Aragorn, and Bilbo for Frodo, and I will sing for you."   
  
_Ar i caimassë caita harni;   
Sercerya síra arë ar mori.   
Ar arcaimassë hára wendë;   
Nirya síra mori ar arë._  
_A nyéna i herun vanwa firala!   
I sornë oacóla meldanya síra!_  
  
"Now go join them," Elrond said. "It is your one last night of freedom and ease. You should spend it in celebration with song."   
  
_I caima undu na harwë;   
"Alcaren Ardava" quén senna tencë._   
  
Legolas stood, and his hand slipped from Elrond's as he walked toward the door.   
  
_A nyéna i herun vanwa firala! _  
  
"Goodbye," he said, and he closed the door behind him.   
  
_ I sornë oacóla meldanya síra!_  
  
"Goodbye," Elrond repeated.   
  
He did not move for several minutes.   
  


* * *

  
Note: The Elvish song used above is my poor translation from the English "Corpus Christi Carol" by Benjamin Britten. A literal translation from the Quenya is below. The translation is quite different from the original text for three reasons: first, the limited Quenya vocabulary meant many substitutions, second, sometimes it was necessary to change words for the sake of rhyme even when I could get a correct translation, and third, I though I'd better remove all references to Jesus... Anyway, I highly recommend checking out the original song, which is quite beautiful.  
  
We bearing down, we bearing up  
We bear him into a forest cold  
Lament for the lost lord fading!  
The eagle bears my love away today!  
  
And in the forest is a great hall  
On it hangs shining silver  
And in the hall is a great bed  
On it hangs red gold  
Lament ...  
  
And in the bed lies a knight  
His blood flows day and night  
And at the bedside sits a maid  
Her tears flow night and day  
Lament...  
  
Under the bed is a treasure  
"For the Glory of Arda" someone upon it wrote  
Lament...  



End file.
